


Swan Lake

by Marinia



Series: Gilded Cage-Series [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (literally), Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Good Friend, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Roman, Bloody Shoes, Controlling Fae Queen, Developing Friendships, Dizziness, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, Magic, Poor Roman, Taking Control Of A Body, The Fae Queen Is Not A Good Person, Trust, nature sprites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia/pseuds/Marinia
Summary: After the Fae Queen stole him away, Roman spent most his time trying to avoid her. Which meant he spent most his time being exceptionally bored.A good thing, then, that he'll find a friend in his pristine, perfect cage.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: Gilded Cage-Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643770
Comments: 27
Kudos: 99





	1. Odette [solo]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAfPbrhGKcU

The golden band rested on Roman’s vanity, unworn and still warm with the magic it held. There was no chain attached to it now; it looked entirely inconspicuous. Had he put it on, the chain would appear, to lead him to the Fae Queen. She had promised him so, with a kiss to his temple, as if he’d want for Her presence, as if he’d want to be with Her. 

Roman looked away from the gold, the shimmering band that was joined by rings, necklaces and earrings in a small, glittering pile. Whatever he could desire, all of it was piled up high on his vanity. None of it was worn, had ever touched his skin. He looked away, to the gargantuan closet, filled with tricot, mesh, sequins and lace, all of it fitted to him and embroidered with the Fae Queen’s sigils. He itched in the dress he wore- or rather the costume. He hadn’t worn anything but costumes since he’d arrived, so he could rise up, to his toes or en pointè, whatever the Fae Queen demanded; whenever She demanded it. 

It didn’t happen often; he tried to stay away from Her rooms, Her part of the palace- any space which smelled of sweet peas, no matter what flowers decorated the room, Her stench painfully pungent wherever She went. 

But when he did come across Her… 

She asked him to dance, every time. She let vines grow around his feet to form pointé shoes, if he walked around in slippers. She enjoyed to let them remain, to have buds of flowers brush against his legs as he danced. The Fae Queen watched him from Herloveseat-throne, as Roman’s movement was inhibited by vines which forced him to stop, to remain in pirouettes and attitude croisé, always on one aching, pointed foot, until he’d fall and his heels hit the polished wooden flooring with a dull flap.

The Fae Queen would smile at him, thin and cruel and  _ knowing _ . “Oh, you are so easily fatigued, my little Prince.” And She’d lift Herfinger, calling Roman to Her side. He had no choice but to listen, even as his jaw clenched until he couldn’t speak anymore. He was almost glad the Fae Queen never wished to talk with him, but only  _ at _ him. 

Back in his room, his beautiful room with the golden-framed mirrors, gold-embellished couches and pure-gold window sills, Roman’s fingers tapped against the impenetrable, unbreakable window. It hadn’t shattered under his fists, just like it hadn’t bruised his knuckles. So he simply let his fingers run over the glass, outlining the silhouettes of the trees he wasn’t able to reach for anymore. His mouth curled at the thought, distaste mixing with fury. 

He knew that, to get out again, to feel the sun on his skin again, he’d have to gain the Fae Queen’s trust. Make Her think he enjoyed being Her captive, so She wouldn’t think it necessary to chain him up. It was his best chance to escape. And yet he’d rather lavish in the golden rooms stuffed with vases of pink carnations forever than to search Her out. 

Roman stayed in his room that day, as he did most of them, watching the sun travel across the sky, until there was a knock at the door. He flinched. He waited for it to open, only to be surprised when it didn’t. The Fae Queen wouldn’t wait for his reply- why should She? Her even  _ knocking  _ had surprised him. But… whoever was at the door, they didn’t enter, only knocked again. Louder, but not aggressively. 

“Enter,” Roman called. His voice was rough from disuse; Joan would’ve joked such a thing was impossible. He bit back on his smile. The door opened. Roman straightened up without thinking about it, pose shifting to be graceful instead of relaxed. He wouldn’t trust the Fae Queen’s lackeys just because they pretended to respect him. 

But the man who came in didn’t mirror the Fae Queen, like all Her Courtesans did. His skin was black, absorbing the light while his eyes shone like opals. He looked at Roman. All the shadows in the room stretched and twisted, as if to get closer to him. “I’ve come to ask if you are alright,” the shadow sprite said, with a voice so low and rough it sounded almost human. Roman didn’t dare show his relief. 

He shrugged, not moving from his place on the ridiculous golden window sill. “She’s given me anything one could ask for,” he spat. He ignored the simplicity of his clothes, their spring colours. The sprite didn’t care to look honest; they only wanted him to be behaving either way. 

The shadow snorted, leaning against the door with careful carelessness. “Of course She did. But that’s not what I asked.” 

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Why did She command you to ask me that, then?” 

The man didn’t sigh, even though it looked like he wanted to, for a moment. Then his opal eyes softened. He took a breath, looking around the opulent room. Roman had trashed it at least thrice, thrown around everything, torn and broken whatever he could find. It always fixed itself the moment he let the door close behind him when leaving it, returning to its pristine, conserved state. “She didn’t command me. She doesn’t want me here- is still angry I befriended Her last pet.” Roman cringed, the shadow shrugged. “I just thought you could use someone to talk to. Or just show you the rooms you can go to without worrying about being  _ seen _ .” 

Roman hopped off the window sill, still graceful, but not as much. His lips were curled in distrust. “You know where that’d be?” 

The shadow nodded, offering a wry grin. “I’ve been here for a long time. And I sometimes need a respite too.” 

Roman nodded, accepting the answer. Still, he walked to the closet which wasn’t his own, taking a pair of pointé shoes, tying the lace bands around his calves while speaking. It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared if this was just a trap. “Do you have a library here? I might just  _ perish  _ if I am forced to reside here for another minute without any entertainment.” 

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got a place in mind. You’ll even get to be in a room without gold or flowers.” The shadow grinned. 

Roman laughed, only a little bit hysterical. “Lead the way, then, because I would give anything to escape this stench,” he smiled, only a little bit stiff and almost earnest. 

The shadow nodded, smiling to himself- not that Roman could see that. “Your wish is my command.” 

After many winding corridors and much fear of being seen, the shadow pushed open the large oak doors to the library. The door closed behind them, any smell of sweet peas and pink carnations being left behind. 

Dust floated through the air, between hundreds of books with aged spines and yellowed pages. Roman looked around, wonder clear on his face, steps stuttering and unsure as he walked through the room. It almost felt like the library of his old ballet company. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, hoping the shadow would hear. 


	2. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman Straight Up Has A Bad Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpQgii4Hf0U
> 
> This is most likely the chapter with the most graphic stuff, so if you're just here for the prinxiety, or might be triggered by: body-control, possessiveness or main character's reaching their breaking point.   
> It will all be well eventually, but it is not at the end of this chapter.
> 
> But also!!! Many thanks to ella, or Theotherella on here, for beta-reading this and helping me sort out roman's suffering! This chapter wouldn't be half as good without her help <3

“You’re pouting again,” the Fae Queen said, and Roman’s frown deepened before he forced his face into tense relaxation. He sat frozen in Her lap, like the doll She saw him as. The Fae Queen rolled Her eyes as She ran Her hands over his skin. Her golden ring grazed his cheek. “I do not know why you’re so silly,” She continued, a fond smile on Her face despite the displeasure in Her words. “Perhaps,” a sly, cruel sort of joy had slipped intoHertone, “you should try and earn all the kindness I grant you. See how merciful I am.” 

Her hand left his face, and She tapped Her nails against the golden band on his wrist, as if She needed to catch his attention. “Go, dance for me!” 

The Fae Queen patted his thigh to send Roman away from his place in Her lap and to the middle of the ballroom. It was empty, except for the courtesans She liked to talk to- the cold, white statues who smiled and agreed with whatever She said, who supplied Her with intel disguised as gossip. The floor was cold, just like the musicians and their tunes. Roman crossed his hands before his waist, poised and graceful, until his cue came and he started to dance.

What usually felt freeing was torture now, with music that lacked any of the emotion his old company had been able to procure with nothing but their old instruments and their polished skills. The Fae Queen’s eyes on him were like a brand of ownership, of captivity. 

She watched his simple regurgitation of movements and jumps that posed as a proper dance. Roman couldn’t even fake the passion which usually clad his every movement. Not when the golden band around his wrist was so tight- or when he had to be careful not to fall over the golden chain attached to it. 

He jumped, arms stretched over his head, fingers extended. For a moment, gravity was but a mere suggestion. He landed, smoothly, soundlessly. He tilted forwards, left leg lifting in the air like second nature. He let it fall again, stepping forward as he rose up en pointé. 

Roman’s leg stretched further up again, until he feared he’d fall without a partner to hold him. But- there was no one. He just had to hold on a little longer; hope it’d be over soon. 

He turned and crossed the ballroom with pitter-patter steps and his arms still raised. He twirled in a fouette, again and again. The world blurred around him. It turned into nothing but white and gold and white. He continued to turn. The music did not change; it continued its demands for him to go on. 

So Roman twirled, rising en pointé and falling down on his heel again for just a moment. He gained more momentum as he stretched his leg, before regaining his perfect form. He ached, in his feet, his legs, his chest, he ached like a broken heart and a broken bone. He still twirled. 

The music changed. 

Roman couldn’t stop the sigh of relief from escaping him. He took a breath, stepped across the ballroom again before he could halt. Slowly, carefully, he posed his right arm in front of him, then crossed his other arm over it by the wrist. The golden band shimmered in the light, as did the chain across his skin; they looked like shackles. 

He exhaled. He rose with the music. His hands stayed in their bound pose. His feet still ached as he pitter-patter-stepped from one to the other, staying in his place, not moving across the ballroom until the music allowed him to. 

He didn’t see the Fae Queen’s deliberation, only heard Her command. “Twirl again!” She smiled, and the courtesan next to Her giggled. “And don’t stop until I tell you.” 

Roman was already twirling, already spinning, again and again and again, closing his eyes so he could only see blackness instead of the torturous white and gold. He ached. The music was painful in its never-changing tune. He imagined himself dancing in between flames, spreading the fire with each and every fouette. He imagined how it’d be, smelling smoke, watching the castle burning around him and the gold melting, losing its  _ immaculate  _ shine. He twirled, until white points appeared in his vision; they infuriated him. He wished they were red. 

But Roman still spun, faster and faster, as if the white would disappear from his vision, as if he’d be left without this betrayal of his own body, this denial of his own escapism. Still, he only saw white. Roman didn’t even notice when he opened his eyes again; the colours were all the same. 

He just continued to twirl, legs tiring, feet aching and heart breaking with anger as the music kept its unchanging tune, as the Fae Queen denied him even the smallest reprieve for no reason but Her own petty amusement- 

His leg caught. It wasn’t fast enough to bend into shape. He tried to save it through his blurring sight. Fear choked him. He took just a moment too long. 

He fell. 

His arms swung without grace or poise as he kept himself upright, his steps uncoordinated and stumbling. His back bowed; but it wasn’t bent in reverence.

His breathing was heavy as he tried to straighten up, blinking the stars out of his vision, even though he couldn’t distinguish them from the rest of the whiteness around him. Roman ended up standing, breathing hard but hardly breathing, when the Fae Queen spoke. 

“Do you not wish to apologize?” She was displeased. Roman couldn’t even look up to see Her face; his vision was still spinning. 

Anger choked him; he swallowed it down. He shook his head. “You said yourself that I am so fragile,” he spat, “why are you surprised at that now?” 

The Fae Queen’s face didn’t twist or turn into a grimace; She froze, like Her features were carved into ice by precise hands. She joined Her hands together, one poisoned nail tapping against the ring which still leashed Roman to Her, which still bound him like an unruly dog. “It seems,” She said, voice soft as the snow and just as cold, “that I must help you in overcoming that fragility.” 

Roman scowled, prepared to talk back, when- 

The golden leash tightened, pulling him to the Fae Queen. His protests became a yelp. The Fae Queen smiled, thin and cruel and knowing, as She rose from Her throne. “Even my old, mortal pets would’ve been able to surpass you.” She stood in front of him, towered over him. 

“Perhaps,” Roman resisted. Then the air pulsed with power and laid over his shoulders like cinder blocks. It pushed him down to his knees. 

He fought back, as if he had a chance. The Fae Queen didn’t even lift Her little finger as the cinder blocks grew into great bricks of clay. Roman’s knees hit the floor with a painful crack. “They were able to progress further because they didn’t waste their time talking back or complaining.” 

“I never even-” 

**“Do you think me blind?** I’m no hag you can deceive with simple smiles!” She walked towards him, steps like thunder. Her nails dug into his scalp as She pushed his head back, forcing wide, fearful eyes to gaze into Her own. “You will stand, my little Prince. And you will spin, until  _ I  _ allow you to stop.” Her command echoed through the room. She let go of Roman’s hair, turned away, not even checking if he stood, if he obeyed. 

Roman did; he stood up with a tension in his body that had nothing to do with control or grace. The golden band glowed where it dug into his wrist. It burned, as it forced its magic beneath his veins, as it forced him into compliance. Roman started spinning before the music even started, before the Fae Queen had even sat down on Her throne. 

He spun, round and round, again and again, on and on, unseeing but all-feeling. Listening for the order to stop like a drowning man looking for a raft. He spun, round and round, again and again, on and on. Tears stained his face, sobs fought their way through his chest as tension kept him coiled and turned them into pain, until they ran out and he was left with nothing but desperation for it to be over. He spun, round and round, again and again, on and on. Agony tore through him; his feet slipped as blood stained his silk shoes. Still, he couldn't stop. He spun, round and round, again and again, on and on. The golden shackle burned him like fire. He still spun, round and round, again and again, on and on. He still spun, round and round, again and  _ again and on and on and he still spun, round and round and again and again and on and on and when would it finally-  _

“Stop.” 

Roman fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He gasped for breath, hands splayed over the ballroom floor, finger tips staining with some of the red which had tainted the marble. 

When his Queen stepped towards him again, he froze, but didn’t flinch away. She loomed over him. Expectant. “I’ll do better,” Roman promised, between hackled breaths and tearful gasps. “I’ll be better, Your Highness, just-” 

The Fae Queen stroked Roman’s hair, as if he was a pet. He still didn’t flinch away, didn’t tense. His anger didn’t burn anymore, didn’t bubble to the surface. Humiliation had scorched him until he was but ash and smoke. The Fae Queen smiled. 


	3. Odette [pas de deux]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman gets the Love and Support he rightfully deserves.   
> (Also, flirting.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Df9VhRKqxUQ
> 
> also, once again many thanks to theotherella for beta-reading this, it wouldn't be as good without her help!

Dawn was starting to creep into the darkness of the night, small strips of violet and pink disturbing the navy heavens and outshining the silver dots of constellations. Roman didn’t even notice; he was too busy remaining on his feet, clinging to the banister of a set of stairs as guests moved around him. The orchestra still played and gold dug into his skin. 

He’d danced through the night, amusing the fae who now steered clear of him. He wasn’t sure if they feared invoking his Queen’s wrath or if they simply did not care for him. It wasn’t for him to worry about. There was a tug on his golden shackle-bracelet. 

Roman took a deep breath, stuffing one last of the hors d'oeuvres, with which he’d hoped to replenish his energy, into his mouth. Instead he draped a coat of elegance over his movements, belying the fatigue burning in his muscles. 

But he stepped to his Queen’s throne, dropped into an effortless bow and hated himself for it with a burning passion. The Fae Queen smiled where She sat on Her throne. She waved someone else onto the ballroom floor with a flick of the hand- Roman glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, almost fainting with mortification when he recognized them.

Virgil was glowing in the light of dawn, freckles like specks of dawn on his dark skin. The white, ninguid nature of the hall, of the guests, it all seemed to be gone where he stood. Warm darkness pooled around him as if he was a safe haven. Virgil offered him a sheepish smile and a hand. Roman yearned to take it, to find himself safe with him. 

The music commenced, and Roman almost succumbed and ran towards Virgil so the shadow could hold him while he regained his breath. His Queen’s gaze stopped him. He stepped away instead, fell into poses and jumps that were familiar as breathing. Languid, painful movements showed off his skill. 

When Virgil stepped towards him, slowly, carefully- he fled in the opposite direction. If he was close to Virgil now, if he let himself slip just a little- He couldn’t. So he danced away from him with pirouettes and pitter-patter-steps. 

Even as the shadow sprite tried to follow him, he refused. His feet might ache and his arms might protest each and every time he moved but still he carried on. The gleaming gold on his skin and the cold eyes on his form rendered it impossible to do anything else. 

Roman spun as the notes rose, as the violin wept and he almost wished he could have joined in. He turned instead, legs shaking underneath him-  _ he would be safer on his legs _ , a treacherous voice whispered,  _ if the Fae Queen pulled at the strings already keeping him in place _ . She let him keep struggling though, and watched him with sparkling cold eyes. 

The spring sprite twirled again, wilting when it was in his nature to flourish. The world around him became nothing but a mist of colours, and he swayed to one side, almost falling- 

He was caught by careful, warm hands around his waist. They kept him standing, then led him into a spin. Roman blinked, seeing Virgil's dark frame. He relaxed in his hold against his will. The pain eased thanks to Virgil supporting him. 

Roman let himself fall forward; he let Virgil catch him. The leg not carrying his weight stretched up into the air. It felt almost easy now. Virgil helped him up, until he stood on two legs again. The shadow sprite’s hands tightened around Roman’s waist and he held back a gasp as he was raised up and placed onto Virgil’s shoulders. Roman only had to focus on keeping the tension in his body, staying in the same pose as Virgil paraded him around, one hand holding his, offering him comfort. He squeezed it in an attempt to convey his gratitude. 

When Virgil let the sprite onto the floor again, Romanlet himself be led through a few poses, almost hoping the music wouldn’t change as he savoured this taste of ease. 

But he raised his hands over his head when the melody changed its run, fleeing across the ballroom on pained feet. He angled himself to face the Queen, putting out his right leg and draping himself over it in the approximation of a bow. Roman lowered his head, swallowing down the bile rising up his throat. Virgil had to see, he had to  _ understand _ \- 

Roman rose again, twisting his limbs with grace and anguish. Virgil was close again, elegant movements carefully restrained. He could force himself closer, force his hands around Roman and know he had kept him from further pain without having sacrificed anything meaningful. "Let me help you," he begged instead, under his breath. 

Roman’s eyes closed. For a moment, all tension left his body and he almost fell. It didn’t fill him with fear the way it should have; Virgil caught him. 

The spirit sprite let his arms fall back in a controlled arch, poised for their audience even as he blinked back tears. Virgil held him and warmth burnt on Roman’s wrists as he lingered. Roman hadn’t even noticed how cold he’d become. In the shadow sprite’s arms, he grew warm again. 

Roman pushed forward with Virgil’s help, hands staying intertwined as they danced together. It was a strategic mixture between easing Roman’s pain and showing off his skill as the musicians played their instruments without any hint of stopping. 

The Fae Queen watched them with pursed lips, watched as ease returned to Her spring’s movements and as the frost receded from his skin, leaving it a lively red. She let them dance and She watched them hold onto each other and She grit her teeth with petty displeasure. The Fae Queen waved her hand when the spring shot the shadow a particularly swooning smile. 

The music came to a stop. 

The two dancers dropped into their final pose. The Fae Queen dismissed them with an uncaring wave of Her hand. The courtesans turned away from them, no longer interested, instead following their Queen as She rose from Her throne and left them in the cold, white ballroom. 

Roman slumped in Virgil’s arms as soon as the gates closed. He was shaking, the breaths he’d carefully controlled before now came out in harsh gasps. Virgil was keeping him from crumpling to the icy marble floors. “She’s gone,” he murmured, again and again, “you can let go now.” 

Roman shook his head, white-red fingers clawed into Virgil’s arms in a search for stability. The golden band still burned against his skin. The chain had disappeared when his dance started, but still he felt it, its phantom weight and its phantom tug on his wrist. 

“How do you know?” he spat. They hadn’t talked since- 

Roman had avoided facing Virgil. Avoided admitting that he’d broken and fallen. It was mortifying as much as it’d been inevitable and he wished he could’ve hidden the fear that’d settled into his bones. But he was too tired to fight, and Virgil… he was his  _ friend _ . 

So the spring sprite let himself curl into a ball, let himself be as small as he felt, let the story of his shameful defeat tumble out of his mouth. He found comfort in Virgil, in the warmth of his hug, in the jacket he took off and wrapped around Roman’s shoulders, in the reassurance pouring from his every action even as he struggled to find the words. 

“It’s not your fault,” he eventually murmured, “eventually, everyone breaks.” 

Roman snorted. “I don’t think anything could break you, Virge.” 

The shadow sprite shrugged, looking away. “That’s just because I had nothing to break for,” his eyes caught Roman’s, their white interrupted by all kinds of colours that shone in the light. They were soft with what Roman almost recognized as longing. 

“Had? So, you have something now? To break for?” His voice was quiet, next to its teasing tone. 

Virgil smiled, squeezing Roman where he still held him. “I do,” he murmured. A teasing smile covered up the honesty neither of them was ready for. “I bet you’d like to know what it is.” 

Roman’s breath caught. He forced himself to laugh. Virgil was so close still. He freed his hands from where they’d clung to the other’s arms; carefully, he cradled Virgil’s face. He was warm under his finger tips, even warmer than during their dance. He was blushing, even though it was harder to spot thanks to his darker skin. 

Roman brushed a strand of frizzy hair out of Virgil’s face, his mocking smile turning soft. “I think I have a pretty good guess…” He could’ve kissed him. But his cheeks were still wet with tears and Virgil’s eyes were laden with heavy bags. So he started planning instead, for the day when he’d get to kiss Virgil. They’d have to be free for it, he decided, looking at the gold shackle on his wrist and the formal suit on Virgil’s body with scheming eyes. 

But in that moment, he let the tension break with a smile, slowly standing up and wandering to the library with Virgil. They buried themselves in books about free men as their bodies become more and more intertwined and their eyes slowly fell shut. The books would fall to the ground and they’d curl into each other on the small ottoman, both unwilling to return to too-perfect rooms. The two sprites would sleep soundly, holding one another, sharing the same dream: of a kiss under the stars, completely and utterly  _ free _ . 


End file.
